


Dissonance

by Scaled



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (Be warned that Genyatta is not the primary focus of this work!), (Is Sadwatch a legitimate phrase?), Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Please do not read if you would be uncomfortable, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scaled/pseuds/Scaled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hana Song struggles to maintain her outward identity, and commentary from the least legitimate of sources causes her to crumble. </p><p>Zenyatta, with Genji's assistance, investigates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Alice, Mika, and others like us.
> 
> ( Please, do not read this if you are currently dealing with extreme circumstances concerning dysphoria or any traumatic experiences. Your well being comes first.
> 
> Thank you for your time. Please, leave a comment of what you are thinking.)

Even the slightest imbalance can cause the mightiest tree to topple. 

 

\---

 

At this point, Hana felt she should be stronger than this. Her technical skill and ability to clutch it out of the sketchiest situations proved that, in theory. As a nigh-unrivaled player in a collection of games ranging from Starcraft to DOTA, fear should be an obsolete concept in all areas of Hana’s life. In fact, every single stream she had ever broadcasted since her first climb up the Grandmaster had provided both a facecam and voice, an open challenge to any scrubs who’d be audacious enough to think they could tear her down via textual harassment. Every so often, Hana would glance towards the chat, giggling under her breath as she got the usual business; basic commentary referring to her as all sorts of sexual phrases, lacking even the slightest depth to their insults. Alongside amusement Hana felt the slightest pang of disappointment, having hoped someone with half a brain would’ve popped into the chat to think outside the box with their rudeness. But, Hana supposed, people of a smarter, more ambitious variety were usually playing ranked instead of goofing off with the rest of the gutter trash. 

 

Back then, Hana was diligent. Hana had the time to be diligent. Hana spent hours before each stream prepping herself, making sure she played her best and looked her best, obsessed with perfecting every aspect of her being, from reaction-timing to winged eyeliner. Her life was a structured masterpiece, all of her own creation, any faults crushed, melted and hammered into steely superiority. 

 

Things had changed. Time had slowly lost the structure she desired, actions monitored outside of her approval. Hana’s priorities hadn’t shifted, yet she was unable to follow her true desires without the imminent danger of being punished harshly for insubordination, the ever-present threat of dishonorable discharge looming over her head like a guillotine poised to execute. Dedicated to her craft, Hana juggled the responsibilities of a defender of humanity and a glory-seeking gamer, and for the first few weeks, she dropped not a single ball. Despite the bottled turmoil of disparate life beginning to simmer, Hana had proven herself diligent, defending her impeccable winrate whilst keeping the borders of her homeland clear of any looming danger. 

 

The longer she persisted, the more her structure eroded. Though arguments with Hana weren’t new to anyone, be they agents of Overwatch or commanding officers of MEKA, their frequency showed signs of rise. What were once legitimate cases to give Hana more chances to devastate the enemy further shifted towards petty, needless shouting matches over whom got to touch what when, if ever. Fiercely defensive of her position, Hana would lash out at the slightest inconvenience with fury, her hands perpetually balled into fists whether or not the danger of opposition was physically present or a mere nightmare. 

 

All remaining energy not spent on operations outside the walls of her home among soldiers was diverted towards her games. Not even close to conceding to the chances that she might snap at her chat, Hana left herself entirely open to the digital world, taking the scum of the internet head-on, and almost entirely beating any dissidents into the dust. As soon as a challenge was presented that was quite clearly sarcastic bullshit spit from the mouth of a man with a loud bark and a mouth full of gums and none else, Hana took it with deadly seriousness, creating custom games to take out her anger against whatever unfortunate idiot decided to enter his battle.net tag into the chat. 

 

Physical fitness was a key requirement, despite piloting a mech almost entirely during her active service on the battlefield. That being said, hygiene was less focused upon. As soldiers performed their duties within massive robotic suits, smell and appearance didn’t tend to be much of an issue, so it wasn’t touched upon too harshly by commanding officers of the MEKA force. So, when a solider began to trade facial maintenance for muscular growth, nobody batted an eye.

 

In fact, it wasn’t even showering that Hana skimped out on. It was something that, when viewed by the naked eye, one would most likely miss for the first few days. But, as Hana’s streaming equipment was continuously upgraded to fit the superlative standards of the eSports community, her cameras displayed all of Hana’s lovely features to the highest resolution the viewing computer could handle. 

 

Hana felt particularly ready to brawl that night, a fire drill pissing her off further than anything else. Why get her into an instinctual bloodthirst when all she had to do was stand in formation for an hour and a half while some noob recruit (who got scouted for being a challenger-rank in League of Legends, of all the fucking games out there) got scolded for showing up a minute late? So, not seconds after launching the stream, Hana scanned the lightning-quick chat for anyone who wanted to get stomped.  
What greeted Hana was not the comfort of an idiotically proud challenger. For sure, everyone there was both idiotic and proud, but what they were challenging was far more painful than anything Hana had experienced from her fans. 

 

\---  
The cruelty of humanity, at any age, is never truly understood until you’ve been brought to tears for nothing more than being yourself. 

 

\---

 

Zenyatta had learned very quickly that lights-out in the MEKA barracks was merely a formality. After Talon’s appearances around the globe began to focus upon east Asia, a sizable group of operatives and affiliates, mostly those who either hailed from those lands or were frequent enough visitors to have an understanding of the land, were deployed to MEKA to assist the squadron of elites. Genji, knowing fully well that he was to be requested to be stationed in South Korea, requested that his master stand by his side. Zenyatta agreed without hesitation, the LEDs of their forehead glowing in pride. 

 

Sadly, meditation became significantly more difficult when present in a compound filled to the brim of young adults who had issues going to sleep earlier than two in the morning. Further complicating the matter, Omnics tended to perceive the actions of other computers regardless of their sentience, usually in the form of what a human might interpret as audio/visual hallucinations. But, ever adaptable and serene, Zenyatta managed to find peace and tranquility within the storm of three-hundred GPUs flawlessly producing displays at sixty frames-per-second at 4K resolution. 

 

Genji, given away by trembling hands and the slightest arch in his back, was having a more difficult time finding his inner peace. Ever merciful, Zenyatta lifted a hand from their lap, their meditation orbs ceasing orbit. “What seems to be the matter, Genji?” Zenyatta asked, knowing fully well how obvious the answer to their question was. Zenyatta sought to observe how their student was growing, their silly request not entirely without reason.

 

“…” Genji hesitated, the hum of his mask’s light deepening in color as he struggled to not lash out. Relaxing the stance of his hand, Genji sighed as he allowed himself to fully return to the physical world. “… With all due respect, master, I find these children very annoying,” Genji spoke slowly, having to focus on not filling his voice with hate. As Zenyatta had taught him, outward presentation would create a reflection inwardly, in most cases. 

 

“I had suspected something like that,” Zenyatta responded, nodding. “As long as you have lived with your cyborg body, I imagine you have not ever lived within a building so concentrated with computers of this sort.” 

 

Looking back, Genji had to agree. Even in his youth as a pure human, Genji was never the sort to spend too much time in a chair. Genji was far more likely to be found in a club selecting women to sleep with than anywhere else. Even when he decided to train upon his martial arts as his clan had hoped for, the experience was entirely unenhanced, as the Shimada family found such augmentation to be disgraceful. In his time with Overwatch, the chatter Genji was able to fully decipher was slow, steady and structured, mostly concerning statistics and tactical planning. Computers dedicated to military services didn’t usually require extreme power to run, and in such cases were most likely put towards massive holographic projections or VR simulations, not requiring a dedicated controller. 

 

Genji could practically hear computers crying out in pain and frustration as their keyboards were impatiently battered upon, deaths met with the most furious of responses. A grimace passed over Genji’s face as a flurry of slurs were thrust forth into his mind, his teeth gritting together. “How it came to pass that people would speak this way so freely is…” Genji trailed off, his words quickly cast in a looming gloom.

 

Zenyatta’s gaze had shifted from their student, piercing through wall after steel wall. Through the chaotic thunderstorm of computer language, Zenyatta had begun to lock onto something far more disheartening than a child dealing with his 0/5/0 KDA. Genji stood, hand at the grip of his Tanto, prepared to do anything that might come to harm for either his master or himself. But, as Zenyatta stood, palm open and facing Genji, the warrior forced himself to let his fist open up, blade clinking dejectedly against its sheath. 

 

“There is no immediate danger to us, Genji,” Zenyatta stated, hoping to bring momentary comfort to their pupil. Against that wish, Genji lifted an eyebrow behind his mask, the sentiment projected into Zenyatta’s masterful perception. 

 

“Excuse me for questioning you, master, but…” Genji started, shifting his gaze to match Zenyatta’s. He peered into the depths of the digital fog, the haze of electrical buzzing incredibly thick. “Something so potent to distract you can only spell disaster,” Genji said with a chill, a deep, black blotch in the static becoming visible. If he squinted, the stain crackled with purple electricity, volatile, willing to lash out at anything that came near without regard to whom or what it was. Though it was far enough into the distance that Genji knew it wouldn’t affect him in the slightest, especially considering it was a visual manifestation of what Genji supposed was the mental state of someone here, the cyborg took a step back and lowered himself to the ground, ready to dodge an errant blast of discordant energy should it be more than a vision.

 

“I do not believe harm shall come to us,” Zenyatta finally decided, beginning to approach the door. “But, if we do not make haste, discord will consume her.”

 

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana bleeds. 
> 
> Hana cries. 
> 
> There is much more to be mended than cuts upon the hand. 
> 
> Everyone's work is cut out for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warnings for visualization of trauma and minor blood. Please, as always, stay safe, my friends.]
> 
> Before all else, I can't thank you all enough for the enthusiastic responses. As such, I'm glad to greet you with a longer chapter for the second entry! In all actuality this took about four hours to hammer out, with thirty minutes afterwards spent on correcting a slew of grammatical errors I made, U_U. I hope to present you with a much more clean entry, but do be vigilant and correct me whenever you can. Also, if you would like to suggest names for either the work as a whole or chapter titles, I would be delighted to see them!
> 
> As always, I deeply hope you enjoy this.
> 
> (Genyatta makes it's first legitimate presence here. Whether or not it gains ground is yet to be seen, but it'll be tagged for sure from now on.)

Hana reached towards her chin, hands trembling. She’s hoped that she wouldn’t feel anything besides the soft smooth skin she’s used to, considering she’s still wearing gloves. Against her hopes, a light, prickly sensation chuckled against her palm, jaw hanging slack in instant shock. Hana’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for every available iota of information that could lead against what was becoming so painfully obvious as to be literal. 

 

Her audience had initially been just as surprised. But, as human instinct tends to rely upon facing the unknown and confusing with disgust, fear and outrage, they acted as one might sadly expect. Regardless of the progress social movements have made in the past century, the centennial anniversary of the Stonewall riots having been no more than five years ago, the lowest dregs of the net were steadfast in their aghast aversion towards even the most prolific of minorities. 

 

For an impossibly long minute, Hana ceased to breath. All operations of her brain ground to a screeching halt, unable to process anything beyond each razor-sharp hair that pressed against Hana’s palm, threatening to tear through fabric, skin, muscle and bone alike. “Stop…” Hana pleaded instinctually, boiling water scalding the edges of her eyes. 

 

The chat was not known for mercy or peace. Bloodthirsty, their assault only quickened pace. The flurry of slurs blinked across the screen, paragraphs per second of unmentionable cruelties all bullying each other for presence upon Hana’s monitor. Their words were not inventive, interesting, clever, or the slightest bit thoughtful. The only thing separating rabid hogs and these net=bound humans seemed to be language proficiency, and even that was generous, as one could copy-paste any text without understanding what it meant.

 

The meaning of their messages, however, was fully understood by Hana. Slowly regaining control over her functions, Hana began to seethe, her hand finally freeing itself from the terror of her own body. As it hung in the air, suddenly independent from Hana’s face and given agency as a result, it assumed the default stance for such an intense storm of negative emotion: A fist, knuckles white as the bone beneath. With a howl, Hana swung forwards, shattering what she desperately fantasized was the nose of whoever had spoken those first insults, spraying a mist of thick, hot blood across her arm. 

 

Though it wasn’t nearly as copious as her dreams, there certainly was blood.

 

\---

 

“Master,” Genji stressed, feeling as though he should be short of breath, “I understand you are worried, but we should slow down.” 

 

Metal against metal tended to be rather loud, an aspect of Genji’s new body that he never quite acclimated to. As a warrior specializing in secretive, shadowy assassination and light-footed duels, Genji had to step now with the very tip of his toe to make certain that he would make only the faintest of sounds. At the very least, he had hoped that Zenyatta would have led the path still in lotus position, as levitation was far superior to any foot technique Genji had to his disposal. Dashing his hopes, Zenyatta nearly ran towards the epicenter of the inky black blot against his vision, each foot making full, flat contact against the floor.

 

“We are moving at a pace befitting the urgency of this situation,” Zenyatta spoke clear as a cloudless day, his outward mood not reflecting his speed. “Remember, Genji. Nobody is awake, and their music is loud, so we will not be rousing anyone from slumber. Please, match my pace.”

 

Genji’s argument caught in his throat, realizing that he is, indeed, seven steps behind his master. Though Zenyatta is Genji’s master, he is a master of meditation and peace, not combat. Being humble not exactly one of his talents, Genji matched Zenyatta’s pace, and a half-step above, just to make certain that anyone watching knows. “I understand, master,” Genji struggled to find his point, the bubbling tar pit quickly growing in sight, “But is it not best to assess the situation from as close as possible without striking to see every weak point? If we run headfirst into whatever is going on…”

 

As soon as Genji’s words passed through his mask and vibrate into the world, Zenyatta began to decelerate, slowing to a stop before a door at the very front of a lengthy hallway. In the center of the upper third of the metal slab, a cute, proud bunny’s face is emblazoned upon the panel, its eyebrows slanted downward with a sly smirk upon its mouth. Though Zenyatta and Genji are not too familiar with the symbol or the moniker written along the bottom of the rabbit’s jaw, the silver nameplate a few inches above bears a name respected by both (and feared by Genji.). 

 

“Master…” Genji reached with an apprehensive voice, knowing fully well that Zenyatta is much more equipped to deescalate a situation than himself, but still cautious of Hana’s take-no-prisoners attitude about any opposition. “I know your stance, but if she is to lash out…”

 

Zenyatta’s open palm, as always, stopped Genji in his tracks. “Do not fear, Genji. My mission is peace, and I shall see it through to the end.” Speaking softly, Zenyatta slowly lowered himself, assuming his lotus position once more. Gliding across the air, Zenyatta held his hand forward, poised to knock. “I appreciate your concern, but I believe I shall defend myself if need be.”

 

“Aah! My apologies, master…” Genji shamefully threw himself into a low bow, palm over fist. Tensing for a blow to the head as was tradition in his youth, Genji was shocked to feel the gentlest metal palm he knew resting against the crown of his head, warmth glowing from the center of Zenyatta’s hand. His gaze lifted but his stance kept steady, Genji knew that if Zenyatta had an unfixed mouth, his master would be softly smiling. “Not to worry, my pupil. You will always be a valuable asset and friend. But, for now…” Removing his palm from Genji’s head, Zenyatta pressed an upright index finger to his mouth. Though Genji expected a human shush, Zenyatta spoke without his speech synthesizer, instead dimming the lights of his forehead, the hum of his PSU filling the silence. 

 

Blessed be my mask, Genji thought, his scarred cheeks glowing red under the metal. 

 

\---

“Ghhk!” Hana’s voice writhed as she began to remove her fist from the monitor, unable to brute-force herself past the stinging cry of her nerves. Jagged pieces of glass skirted past her fingers, licking slices through both glove and flesh alike. Almost entirely freed, a single fracture with a strange angle hungers for more, keeping Hana’s glove stuck in place. With a weak tug, Hana’s voice reached its peak pitch as she cried out, a knuckle tapped against with mischievous glee. Angling her hand so she has a clean shot without any other shards in the assumed trajectory, Hana pulled back once more with success. 

 

Having used excessive force, Hana tumbled back into her chair hard enough that she disorients herself, the swiveling seat tossing her around. Though she sticks her foot against one of the legs to stop her rotation, the chair did enough to make Hana sick to her stomach. With each and every sensation pleading, begging, and screaming to be considered, Hana found herself unable to do anything but place the heels of her palms to her cheekbones, take a shaky breath, and sob. 

 

Hana’s tears flow forth with ease despite being absent for as long as she can voluntarily remember. As she cried, Hana began to fold forward, her elbows pressed against her knees, steadily forming dents into the toned flesh. Though it’s an awful set of circumstances, Hana had to admit that this position was her only comfort then.

 

Momentary peace, Hana found, is quickly lost. A single tap against her door forced Hana to take in a sharp, quick breath, swiveling towards the source of the sound. After a silent moment, Hana prayed that it was simply an errant drone with a wobbly flight path. She’s quickly disproven as the same exact sound is repeated once more, not exactly impatient but certainly urgent. Hana hesitated further yet, ashamed of her voice already. She was in no mood to make it worse by listening to her raspy, grief-stricken speech.

 

Luckily, the other one on the side of the door took the first step. “May we enter?” the voice ventured, soft and smooth. Hana heard omnic deep in the voice, confusing her as there was a serious shortage of pro-gamer omnics in MEKA, if not the world as a whole. Options cut down and not in the state of mind to even consider browsing a mental catalogue of people currently in the barracks, Hana opted for a different path.

 

“Why are you here!?” Hana hoped to ask just as calmly as her guest, but a combination of residual sorrow-coated rage and a tear-soaked throat complicated that. Her voice echoed throughout the room, throwing Hana’s perceived imperfections of her voice against her, summoning moisture to the corners of her eyes anew. But, seemingly unaffected, the voice responds.

 

“We seek to assist you.”

 

\---

 

For once tonight, Genji fully obeyed Zenyatta, absolutely silent, though motivated mostly by fear. Zenyatta’s request of silence is merely an underlying motive for Genji, knowing fully well than anything he might say could send Hana over the edge. Still, his hand held the doorknob, ready to open whether or not Hana consented to their entry.

 

Zenyatta’s patience rewarded him. From the other side, Hana shakily spoke, “…Okay.” Before Genji could fully turn his hand, Zenyatta lifted his palm, his priorities still very clear. “We understand. Do not be afraid, Hana Song. We are entering now.” Zenyatta assured Hana, his palm closing. Nodding, Genji slowly opened the door, the hinges absolutely silent. 

 

Though Genji and Zenyatta are the only sources of light in the pitch-black room, it’s plainly visible that Hana has been living in a mess for a long while. Clothes are strewn about, skintight uniform and baggy off-duty attire crumpled and tossed about without discrimination. And, as Genji lowered his olfactory sensors with a wrinkled nose, he determined that nothing in the room, including Hana, had been washed recently. Turning, Genji found Hana in a massive cushioned chair peering towards the duo through a slatted gaze, her fingers blocking unwanted light from her gaze. Despite this, Hana quickly hid her face, turning so her side faced Genji. 

 

“Your hands are bleeding…” Genji observed, the rivulets of blood adorning her right hand shimmering in the green-blue lights. 

 

Fuming, Hana is quick to respond. “Gee, thanks, I had no clue!” She shouted back, voice deeply infused with steaming venom. Genji recoiled, ready to fire back a volley, but Zenyatta is far ahead of both warriors. 

 

“I agree.” Zenyatta hummed, motioning towards the wall immediately to the right of the door. “Hana Song’s pain resides far deeper than a few cuts on her palm. Genji, if you could bring the lights to a dim setting, please.”

 

Though at first shocked that his master would not take his side, Genji nodded with the slightest hesitance. Placing his index finger and thumb on the sliding switch, Genji brought light to the entirety of Hana’s room. Hana hissed at the light, raising the bottom of her hands to fully block the light, fully exposing her face to the two omnics. Though he attempted to hold himself back, Genji was unable to block the beginning of a gasp.

 

Zenyatta, however, seemed to be unshaken in the slightest. Gliding towards Hana, Zenyatta moved directly in front of her, a hand raised in the air. “Please, Hana,” Zenyatta began, placing his hand upon her knee. “Breathe slowly and steadily, as I count.” Pausing for a moment, Zenyatta waited for Hana. Unmoving, he supposed that was enough of a response. 

 

“In…” Zenyatta raised his palm, the glow of the center of his hand next to Hana’s face. And, after another pause, the hand lowered back to Hana’s knee, alongside, “Out.” Zenyatta repeated the actions, chanting the simplest of mantras at a slow enough pace that five seconds could be counted between each word. And, sure enough, Hana’s breathing became visible in due time, her chest rising and falling in tempo. 

 

After somewhere between ten and fifteen of these repetitions (Hana had neither the patience nor available brain space to tell), Zenyatta ceased his mantra. “Excellent, Hana Song. Mastery of the mind begins with mastery of the body. Now, let me see your hand.”

 

Hana felt a powerful urge to spit at Zenyatta, though upon reflection, she found no legitimate basis for such a challenge. So, with a sigh, Hana begrudgingly held her right palm out, revealing one blotchy, baggy eye stained with tears. Zenyatta gently accepted the hand, his own hand cupping Hana’s. Pinpointing each sliver of glass still embedded in her, down to the tiniest of shards, Zenyatta slowly made his way across Hana’s hand, plucking piece after piece. Once Hana’s hand was free of foreign objects, one of Zenyatta’s orbs began to glow a warm, soft golden light, drifting over Hana like a shining moon. 

 

Though the wounds quickly closed, scar tissue fading in seconds, Hana’s hand trembled in Zenyatta’s grip all the same. “Clearly,” Zenyatta chimed, “Your wounds were not the source of your disquiet. What has caused you such immense suffering?”  
“Master…” Genji poked his way into the conversation with hesitance. Stepping forward, hands at his sides, Genji knelt to Zenyatta’s sitting height, hoping he wasn’t close enough to agitate Hana. “This may not be a matter you are experienced in. Perhaps…” Genji trailed off, fearful of what might happen if he were to take the lead.

 

“Hmm…” Zenyatta quietly buzzed, his thumb rhythmically passing over Hana’s palm as she sat in place, forcing herself to control her breathing. “While that may be the case, Hana Song’s explanation may assist us both greatly in helping her. Something is always better than nothing, my pupil.”

 

“Yes, but…” Genji fumbled, very wary of discounting his master’s sagely advice. But, before he could manage any further, Hana spoke once more, her voice threatening to fall apart under the weight of her statement.

 

“I’m not supposed to look like this.”


End file.
